


To Be an Alpha

by B_Frizzy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Bonding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Oblivious Scott, Oneshot, Pack Feels, StilesFeels, Well-Adjusted Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:22:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Frizzy/pseuds/B_Frizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By accident, Derek learns that he can take Stiles' emotional pain, not just the physical. A series of scenes show him trying to help Stiles cope with the loss of his mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be an Alpha

**Author's Note:**

> so, this is a first in a lot of ways- my first oneshot of any type, my first teen wolf fic, and I tried writing things a bit differently. I loved throwing myself into it. I hope you like it too.  
> The title was... A throw away? Honestly, I added it because it was necessary and thought about it 0%

Derek tried his best to be a good Alpha. Even though their pack was shaky at best, in shambles most of the time, Derek had grown up in a great, well-rounded, well-adjusted pack. And his mother had made sure to teach everyone great lessons on how to lead and how to be a good Alpha (because first and foremost, an Alpha was there for the pack, not the other way around, no matter what other people though).

Derek learned from his mother that often giving someone space will solve more problems than trying to talk about a problem immediately. She taught him that the pack opinion weighs more than the Alpha's opinion. That a large cup of chamomile is a good remedy for the blues. That things, possessions don't matter as much feelings. Love can be, and often is, expressed a hundred different ways. And the most important lesson that Talia Hale taught every one of her children was that you must pay attention. People don't say more than they do say, and what they don't say is what they really mean.

Listening to the words of his mother, Derek paid very close attention to his pack, which is why he knew that Scott tried hard to hide his childish side, but it was there under all of the worry and responsibility. He also knew that Erica and Boyd were both more into the idea of companionship than they were into each other, but it worked for them. And Stiles got distracted; sometimes it was a happy distracted, staring off into space, but sometimes it was a somber, glazed distracted.

After they had gone off to college, converging only a couple days a week for pack weekends, the somber stares increased. Whole dinners passed without Stiles saying more than two sentences. Derek tried to give him space and hoped he just needed time to adjust to the new life-style, living without the pack every day. Some of the others seemed to be having a rough time of things, too, but they grew out of it. Stiles never did. Even so, nobody seemed to notice in the excitement of the pack's chatter. Except Derek. It was his job as Alpha.

Since the Nogitsune, Stiles always gave off a permeating scent of terror and sadness. It was nearly impossible to gauge his emotions from his scent. It frustrated Derek, and he knew that it frustrated the others as well. He often saw Scott give his friend long side-eyed looks, as if trying to figure out if the scents were accurate or not. It went against all instincts for a werewolf not to be able to use his nose.

Derek found himself trying, anyway. He searched every weekend for any change in Stile's scent, any hint of what was happening in his weird, human head. Every weekend, it was always the same: Chemicals from his medication, a combination of forest and sugar that always made Derek think of sap fresh from a tree, pack, and panic.

Saturday night movie marathon was an exceptionally distant night for Stiles. The entire pack was crowded on the groaning couch. It was flowing over even more than usual since Kira had managed to make it back to Beacon Hills, and Isaac was off of work that night. After a shoving match to squeeze, Stiles surrendered his seat easily, slumping on the floor. That was Derek's first sign that something was more wrong than usual.

Stiles spent the first half of The Dark Knight plucking a loose string from the carpet, ignoring the screen and the jokes from the pack alike. After the third time he missed someone call his name, Derek decided it was due time to talk to the human. From his chair, he lightly kicked the gangly human's knee to get his attention.

“Come help me make popcorn.”

“Yeah, sure, man.” No argument, just a yes. Stiles picked himself up from the floor and followed Derek to the kitchen. 

Taking his mom's advice to heart, the Alpha always kept a full kettle on his stove in case he needed to make tea. He flipped on the burner for the kettle and started a pot of oil to make popcorn. The bagged crap wasn't allowed in the house. Derek wouldn't admit it to anyone, but the whole domestic bit was nice. As he waited for everything to get ready, he leaned against the counter facing Stiles.

Derek cleared his throat. “So, Stiles, how's everything going? School okay?”

Stiles was studying Anthropology and absolutely loved it. He would regularly cross-reference his text books with Deaton and the Bestiary, triumphant when he realized some historical society was actually preternatural. The topic always brought a smile to his face, no matter what. When Derek asked, though, Stiles just scuffed his feet and ruffed his hand through his hair, mumbling a “Yeah, it's going good.”

The kettle whistled and Derek went about making a cup of tea in Stiles' favorite mug (one that was in the shape of a little wolf, with a bushy tail for a handle). It was than strangling him until he talked, anyway. Soon after the Alpha set the tea bag to steep, popcorn began popping. Derek grabbed several large bowls. It didn't take long for the pot to overflow once, twice, three times. On bowl of popcorn got salt and butter, one got a side of nacho cheese (at Erica's rather frightening insistence). Through the entire process, Stiles didn't say anything. He just half-watched his Alpha work his way around the kitchen.

Once the snacks were done, Derek delivered them to the waiting wolves, but not before telling Stiles to “Stay put.” The Alpha was happy to see that Stiles had picked up the teas when he got back to the kitchen, and gave a silent thank you to his mom.

Carefully, Derek slid next to Stiles, taking up his own section of counter to lean on. Now that the pack was more established, casual touching had become easier, so when his shoulder pressed against the younger man's, he didn't pull back any. The physical contact was comforting for Derek. He hoped it was for Stiles, too. Especially since he was about to say some rather uncomfortable things.

“Stiles, are you okay? I'm... worried about you?”

In mid-sip, Stiles started sputtering. Between coughs he got out, “Dude, what did you say?”

Derek crossed his arms, glowering. It wasn't THAT odd that he was airing concern about his pack. It did make him slightly glad to see a little big of the old Stiles back, if only just a little bit. Intent to ignore the fact that he didn't actually need Derek to repeat what he said, Derek did.

“I'm worried about you. What's been on your mind? What's had you distracted?”

Stiles laughed and tried to brush it off. “Um, hello, my name is Stiles. I'm practically the reason for Adderall.”

He started to walk away, but Derek refused to let him out of it. He grabbed Stile's thinner arm and gasped. Derek couldn't really explain why it happened. Usually you had to consciously be attempting to take away someone's pain. Maybe it was because Stiles was his Beta (sort of), or maybe it was because he was wanting so bad to have the old Stiles back. It didn't matter why it was happening. It only mattered that he was taking Stiles' emotional pain (he had never heard of anything like it before), and it felt like someone was stabbing him in the gut it hurt so bad. 

Derek wasn't a stranger to pain. The love of his life had burned his family alive. He had to kill the only relative he had left. Those things ripped him apart in indescribable ways. Even years later there were still days where the wounds felt fresh. But what Stiles was feeling, the pain and heart ache, were so real it brought tears to his eyes. Derek couldn't focus or think. Everything just felt... wrong. He didn’t even have the sense to pull away; Stiles did.

Both of them were breathing hard, teary eyed. Careful not to touch skin, Derek put his hand on Stiles' upper arm, partially because he wanted to comfort him, but mostly because he wanted the comfort of physical contact himself.

“Stiles, I...”There were no words for how terrible Derek felt. He had suspected something was wrong, but how could he have missed something so huge? How did the pack miss it entirely? Stiles was suffering, alone. 

Everything that he smelled of, constantly, was exactly how he was feeling. It had been years since he began wreaking of the awful pain and fear. Had he been feeling all of the pain since then? How was that even possible? Stiles was strong, impossibly strong, but to feel all that pain for so long... Derek didn't know how he could have done it.

Derek pulled Stiles into a tight hug. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. We should have known.”

The two weren’t normally touchy-feely. They didn't exchange hugs or go to each other for comfort. Something about the hug was good, though. Both of them were suffering the same pain and knew how good it felt not to be alone. They clung to each other without embarrassment. It was pack comforting pack. 

A loud peal of laughter broke them apart and a warm silence fell between them. There wasn't any pressure to talk, but they both knew that eventually a conversation would have to happen. And maybe for the first time between the two, there was a sense of understanding.

Stiles played with his wolf mug and took a sip, only to spit it back. He laughed a bit. “Oh, god, that's terrible and cold.”

“My mom always said a steaming cup of chamomile will solve all your problems. Truth be told, I always hated the stuff.” To Derek, it tasted like an old woman's perfume smelled. Everyone else seemed to like it well enough, which is why he kept it around. He was glad that someone else dislike it, too.

“Do you miss her, your mom?” The question surprised the Alpha. Of course he missed his mom. He missed everything about her. Did Stiles expect him to say something different? He tried to make eye contact, but Stiles stared intently at the grey ceramic.

Derek realized that this must have been something bothering Stiles- his mother. It was perfectly reasonable to hurt of the death of his mother. Thinking about it, Derek had never heard the younger man talk about her at all. One of the things that kept him going was living the memory of his mother, or his entire family.

How could Derek get across to Stiles how long it had taken him to get to where he was? The mistakes he made, and the times where he was exactly here the younger man was. He took a deep breath and tried to collect his thoughts.

“My mom was a fabulous woman. She would have loved you, the rest of the pack, too. When I was younger, I though that if I didn't try to remember her, it would be easier to live life every day. Then I would see a family crossing the street together, and I would get so angry that I didn't have mine anymore. I lived life ignoring everything 75% of the time, and in a rage the other 15%. Well, all of the time. It was exhausting, Stiles. One day, I gave in. I decided to stop fighting my memories and I lived life remembering what she told me, like having chamomile tea ready, and I realized I had spent years mourning for myself instead of celebrating everything great I got from her.”

“It's as simple as that? You just start thinking about your mom and it stops hurting?” Stiles' tone was skeptical, bordering on angry, but Derek didn't blame him. The pack had never seen him have a bad day, a day where he wanted to do nothing but lay in bed all day and cry over the loss of his family. They hadn't seen him destroy the Hale property in fits of rage or nearly catatonic. Those were things he hid, and for good reason. Derek sighed.

“No, it's not as simple as that. But Stiles, you have to try something different, don't you think?” The question didn't need an answer. They both knew, because they both felt it.

Now that he knew that Stiles was in so much pain, and it was pain he could take, Derek didn't want to exacerbate anything by trying to talk. The conversation was necessary, but the pain wasn't. Derek carefully laid a hand over Stiles' own on the wolf mug.

The first time, Derek wasn't prepared for the pain. It was accidental. When he concentrated, did it on purpose, the pain was manageable. In a way, he felt like he deserved some of it, since his Beta had suffered for so long without anyone noticing. Though his voice was slightly husky, he asked, “Tell me about your mom, Stiles?”

“Well, uh, she loved to cook. But she was impatient and could never finish half of what she started. Uhm, she decorated the house for every holiday, big or small, always loved to go all out. Christmas was her favorite. She hated shoes and went barefoot where ever she could. I, uh. Dude, no offense, but I can't really focus with you doing the whole emotion sucking thing.”

Derek didn't physically pull back, but stopped siphoning the pain. The skill was easy to pick up; it was just a matter of adjusting his normal pain-taking skills. Stiles subtly pulled away.

“Listen, Derek. Thanks, for talking and listening. And using your werewolfy powers to, well you know. I'll, uh, try to take your advice.” Somewhat awkwardly, he wrapped his arms around Derek's shoulders in a hug, but pulled away and walked out of the kitchen quickly, clear that he didn't want it reciprocated. And that was that.  
/ \

Over the next few months, Stiles was back to his old self. There were bad days, but nothing like the catatonic Stiles who had shown up for several weekends. 

In early October, Stiles showed up several hours before everyone else on a Friday, claiming a canceled lab (though Derek hear his heart tick out of rhythm at the lie). The human marched his way to the kitchen and declared that it was “about damn time the pack had a proper mean,” groceries in tow. He spent hours banging around and cursing. Stiles shooed Derek out of the kitchen several times, promising he was fine, that the fire was just a fluke, that he knew what he was doing. Derek drew the line at Stiles being unsupervised when he smelled blood.

The pack trickled in around seven to a very tense Derek and a groaning table packed full of meatloaf, roasted potatoes and carrots, corn bread, and green bean casserole. A huge pie was chilling in the fridge. Nobody could believe it was real, but when they questioned it once too many times and Stiles threatened to take it all away, everyone shut up, happily shoving their faces full of food.

It quickly became a habit. Every week, Stiles would cook a good meal for the pack, though most weeks it had to wait until Saturday so that Stiles didn't miss his Friday night lab. He experimented some nights, which resulted in full trash bags and emergency take-away, but years of taking care of his dad resulted in the ability to cook pretty well. Not a single werewolf complained.

The weekend before Halloween, Stiles decorated the house with plastic skeletons and banners, giving some little costume or mask to everyone to wear. They marathoned horror movies all day, eating holiday-themed snacks. Derek thought it was all a bit over the top and cliché for a group of werewolves to be celebrating Halloween so flamboyantly, but went along with it because it's what Stiles needed. Even it meant wearing a pair of bunny ears.

By all accounts, the night was successful. The pack had all fallen asleep in a giant pile on the living room floor. Somehow, Stiles ended up pressed between Erica and Boyd during the night. He wasn't sure what exactly had woken him up, but his heart was pounding and being squeezed in the tiny space between the two 'wolves was making his chest press uncomfortably tight. He could feel a panic attack on the horizon. 

As carefully and quickly as he could, Stiles climbed out of the hot pile of werewolves. It was like being in the middle of a circle of furnaces. He tried his hardest to calm his breathing, even forced himself to sip on a glass of water, which resulted in him nearly choking. He did everything he knew how to do to calm himself down. All except on thing. He eyed the ceiling of the loft and shakily started up the steps before he decided it was a bad idea.

Climbing stairs on his shaky, panicky, legs was harder than he thought it was going to be. By the time he got to the door of Derek's bedroom, the wheezing and lightheadedness made the world spin in an uneasy way. In a stupid, reckless act, he took the last few steps to the door, flailing when it feel open on its own.

Immediately, Derek was on him, helping him up. It would have been obvious to even human senses that Stiles was distressed and anxious. The werewolf, though, could hear his frantic heartbeat and was shocked at how quickly it was beating. 

Derek carefully directed the human to the bed, running his hand down Stile's back, trying to calm him down. Stiles grabbed his bicep. With wide eyes, he looked to his Alpha.

“Please, help?”

Derek knelt in front of his Beta, using his free hand to grip his face, keeping it focused on his own. “How? How can I help?”

“I can't calm down. I'm panicking. It brings up more crap. I panic more. Make it stop, please?” It was a struggle to get the words out. Tears were threatening to spill over. Derek swallowed and nodded. He would do anything he could to keep the human from looking desperate in the face of his pain.

Slowly, he began to siphon out Stiles' pain. Physical and emotional mingled together in an odd twist of the panic attack. Derek didn't stop until he could feel Stiles' breath slow and his heart beat stead and calm. His own breathing was ragged, but he was feeling satisfied that he could help, however small it was. 

He carefully joined Stiles on the food of the bed. As soon as he settled down, Stiles leaned into his shoulder, his whole body falling against the older man. In response, Derek put his arm around his shoulders. He expected they would sit in silence until they fell asleep. Instead, Stiles started talking.

“Before the Nogitsune, I handled things better, you know. I talked to Deaton and the whole 'lasting effect' could be this- my sudden inability to handle my emotions. Who knew it'd still be rearing its head all these years later? Panic attacks, nightmares, emotional crap hole. And here I thought things could go well, you know, in life. Ever.”

Derek leaned his head against Stiles'. “Did you ever wonder why I survived the fire? I mean, Kate was my girlfriend, so I would have had to be with her that day, right? So, why'd I make it out?”

Stiles stilled. The fire was a taboo topic. It was never brought up, especially by Derek. So why now? Carefully, he said, “I guess I always thought you weren't there.”

“Kate was there with me that day. She knocked me out and started the fire. By the time I came to, it was too late for me to save anyone but myself. Bu she made sure I could hear the screams and smell...Before the house collapsed around us. I would have died in there, too, trying to save people. I would have given my life for them, but the house collapsed. I'm not sure why, but she wanted me to survive with that terror.”

He paused, stuck in the memories of his past. They were horrible, gut-wrenching memories. With a sigh, he rubbed his face lightly against Stiles' hair, almost unconsciously. 

“Anyway, the point is, I know what it's like to have terrible nightmares and panic attacks and be in an emotional crap hole. Just without the evil Japanese demon possessing me.”

Stiles had never heard his Alpha speak so openly about his family, or Kate, before. It was odd and refreshing, and also extremely horrifying. Even with the terrible things that had happened to him, though, Stiles couldn't imagine the large, intimidating werewolf waking up to cold sweats in the middle of the night, sobbing into his pillow because he couldn't tell what was real and what was a dream, like Stiles had so many times. And if he had, who had been there to comfort him? How did he do it alone? He opened his mouth to say something, but it turned into a giant yawn instead. 

He made a face. “Sorry.”

“No, it's late. You should lay down. Something tells me you haven't slept much lately.” Derek tried to keep the judgment out of his voice. Nobody wants a mom when they ask for a friend. He hoped he was successful, but Stiles flashed a look of disappointment and stood up from the foot of the bed. “Yeah, I guess I do need sleep. Uh, I'll just head back downstairs.”

He turned quickly to head back out the bedroom door, but was stopped when Derek grabbed his hand tight.

“I wasn't kicking you out. I meant lay down here. There's no pack to make you feel tight and squeezed in. A whole big bed for you to lounge in.” The Alpha looked a their hands, grasped together. Stiles' palm was clammy, his long fingers holding tight. It felt nice, which made Derek's chest constrict painful. He pulled back his hand and hoped the younger human didn't sense his discomfort.

He seemed distracted by his own thoughts, though. Stiles turned around and considered his Alpha. “Sleep here? Like, with you? That wouldn't be super, massively awkward? How do I know you won'[t ravage my young, hot body during the night?”

Derek, raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Really, Stiles? Get your ass on the bed.”

“So, you do have plans for my delicate body parts in your bed!” Despite the jokes, he climbed up to the mountain of pillows and immediately sank into the mattress. “Oh, my god. You sleep on an honest to god cloud.”

As Derek joined him at the top of the bed, Stiles was busy snuggling deep under the covers, finding just the right place to lay. He gave a moan of delight. “So comfortable. Why do you even get out of bed. I would never get out of this bed.”

The older man pursed his lips together, trying and failing to look annoyed. Instead, he was worrying, trying to figure out how close he could get without making Stiles uncomfortable. Clearly not noticing or caring about Derek's careful arrangements, Stiles pressed himself against his Alpha, relaxing into the warmth.

“I better wake up chaste, you big ole' wolf.” He could barely get the words out before he was drifting off to a happy, dreamless sleep.

In the morning, Erica made a comment about Stiles leaving Derek's bedroom, but one look from the Alpha shut her down quickly. Nobody else dared ask about it, not even Scott. That surprised Stiles the most. It's not as though Derek would have known if, any time during the week, Scott texted his friend asking why he was in Derek's bedroom (and undoubtedly his bed), but the text never came.

That became a habit, too. Stiles would have several good weeks, then something would upset him, and he would find himself turning to Derek for comfort, usually at night. 

The repeated the process after a pack party for Scot’s birthday. The group had gone all out with first and cake. Erica made everyone wear party hats while Stiles enforced the party games. Boyd even snuck in some alcohol changed the rules to pin the tail on the werewolf to be a drinking game (which Stiles objected to heavily, seeing as he was the only one who could actually get drunk, but couldn’t drink because of his medication).

That night, Derek laid in bed listening to the sounds of his pack sleep. It calmed him to hear happy sounds filling his house again. It didn't replace anything, but it helped ease some of the pain. As he was drifting off, a creaking and erratic heartbeat woke him. He breathed deep, smelling chemicals and pine sap: Stiles. Derek propped himself up on his elbows so he could observe the human lingering in the doorway. Stiles was in his usual beat up t-shirt and sleep pants, and stood scuffing his bare toes against the floor board. His face was blotchy, like he had been crying.

“Hey, I didn't mean to disturb you, and didn't know if you were asleep, in which case I didn't mean to wake you up, but if I am or did, feel free to kick me out. 'Cause I know I wouldn't want someone barging into me bedroom at night, asking favors-”

Derek cut him off. It hurt Derek more than he was willing to admit to see Stiles upset. It hurt him even more that Stiles thought Derek would kick him out. In the few times that Stiles had asked for help, he had never rambled on like he was doing. So what was different this time?

“Stiles, what's wrong?” 

“I thought it was helping, your advice. I was, you know, thinking about my mom more. I've been cooking and celebrating,” Stiles said. “But, today, it, uh, really hurts, Derek.” His voice cracked at the end, and Derek could tell he was fighting back tears.

Derek sat up all the way, his comforter pooled in his lap. He gestured for Stiles to join him on the bed, moving over the pillows that he knew Stiles preferred. On unsteady feet, Stiles walked over to the bed, crawling in. As soon as he was in his Alpha's arms, he broke down, sobs coming in unsteady waves. 

Through his tears, he managed to choke out, “I don't want you to help, not like you think. Can you just, talk to me?”

Derek gripped him closer, and talked. He told Stiles about the time his sister tricked him into a circle of mountain ash, and he was stuck there for days. He talked about the posters he had on his bedroom walls growing up, and how much he admired his Uncle Peter back then. He complimented Stiles on the progress he had made with cooking. In low tones, Derek talked about how much of the old Hale house had actually been destroyed by him, and not the fire. 

It took time, but Stiles calmed down eventually. His tears stopped, but still he clung to Derek's chest. Every now and again his breath would heave, and through it all, Derek talked. 

It was distinctly different than all the other times Stiles had come for help. He didn't want Derek to use his powers. No, Stiles came for comfort only. The older man could feel something growing in his chest. How had the spastic, gangly nerd grown into such a confusing, enticing young man? When had he grown up to be so resilient, and so strong?

He could feel that Stiles was asleep as he brushed a piece of hair off his forehead. Voice rough from talking, Derek carefully whispered, “I'm proud of you.” 

Though with Stiles you never knew what was coming, Derek wasn't expecting to find him on his doorstep on the first day of Thanksgiving break. There wasn't any pack time scheduled, it was just Stiles, pulling at the strings of his hooding. He stared intently at the doorway as he asked, “Do you mind if I come in? You know, to talk?”

Derek opened the door wide enough for Stiles to walk through. He briefly wondered back to the gawky kid he used to threaten, who he would never, ever have considered to be someone he could confide in. Derek was fairly certain that he would think the same of him. And yet, there Stile was, showing up on his doorstep, wanting to talk.

“I was just cleaning the kitchen, preparing for the mess you're about to make this week. Sorry everything's a bit of a mess.” Derek gestured absently to the buckets and rag. Stiles didn't seem to care; he flopped down on the couch, picking at the cuticles on his thumb. It looked like he had been worrying at his fingers for several days. Despite coming over to talk, Stiles stayed silent. 

The Alpha sat on his usual chair, watching. He knew that Stiles was getting better about talking about his family lately. He hoped it would be okay if he started the conversation. Not that he wanted to be pushy, it just seemed like it might be a good step forward, somehow.

“Is what you wanted to talk about, well, do you want to talk about your mom?”

Stiles looked up as if he only heard bits and pieces of what Derek said. Clearly, it was one of his less than spectacular days. “Huh? Oh, no.”

They lapsed into silence again, Stiles fidgeting and Derek staying still. He could feel the anxiety coming off the human, but he claimed it wasn't about his mother. Truth be told, with Thanksgiving coming up, Derek had expected to be spending some time with Stiles, But if he was upset and it wasn't about his mother, Derek couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

Why he had gone to Derek, of all people, was another mystery. Was his problem something that he felt Derek could sympathize with? Was it something he needed Derek's help solving? Or did Stiles simply feel comfortable going to his Alpha with problems after months of seeking him out for comfort? It was impossible to know without some input from the human.

But, Stiles wasn't saying anything, so he had no clue why he had gone to the werewolf that particular night. “Stiles, you've got to give me something to work with. I don't know what we're supposed to be talking about.”

Stiles shifted his eyes quickly up, then focused back on his fingernails. He stirred uncomfortably on the couch. “Um, so, you were born a werewolf, right. And you're the only one left and the pack, and, you know, that makes you different. It makes you the odd one out.”

“Stiles, what are you getting at?” Derek stiffened. Hearing about how absolutely alone he was in the world didn't make him feel good, especially when he didn't know how it connected.

“My point is just that you're alone; there's nobody else like you here. Nobody to talk to you, really. We can empathize, but not sympathize, so how do you deal with that?

Derek carefully rubbed his face. So, was stiles feeling alone? How hard was it to just say that, instead of reminding Derek of his place in life? Ignoring that, Derek couldn't figure out why Stiles would be feeling lonely. He wasn't the only one mourning family, he wasn't the only human in the pack, or away for college. He could sit there guessing forever and probably end up wrong. Instead of trying to figure it out, Derek just answered the question.

“Well, I guess I just don't see it as being alone or secluded like you're making it sound. I'm not... defined by my birth. It's just something that makes me unique. I don't dwell on it.”

That answer didn't seem to please Stiles. He leaned forward, staring intently at Derek for the first time since he had showed up. “But there's nobody who can understand. The things that make you unique give you unique struggles, too. Nobody can commiserate with those struggles. How are you supposed to handle that. How do you handle that?”

Derek carefully considered his answer. Stiles seemed desperate. He needed help, he needed someone to be there to give him advice. It was more than when he asked Derek for help before, it was desperate. For the first time, Derek saw a terrible downside to his helping his Beta. Because it was more than desperation; there was a hint of reliance, and edge of need for someone to control his problems. Had the Alpha inadvertently made it impossible for him to deal with things on his own?

He chose his words carefully, and tried to keep his tone calm and friendly. He knew that what he was going to saw wasn't going to satisfy the anxious human. “You learn to cope. For some proles in life, you can turn to friends, but some you have to deal with on your ow. It's part of being an individual. And part of growing up. Even if I wasn't the only born werewolf, I would still be different from you, and Erica, and Boyd, Scott, Kira, Isaac. Everyone is unique and we have to accept our uniquenesses. It's part of growing up.”

“That's no help. Like, zero help at all. I may as well have not come to see you. I can't deal with it on my own, that's why I even bothered to come to see you in the first place.”

When Stiles started talking, he was mostly sarcastic, but something changed. Sometime while he was talking, he got angry, and by the end, he was yelling at his Alpha. He stood up from the couch and started frantically pacing the small space between the coffee table and the furniture. He didn't know where the anger came from, but it felt good.

“You're supposed to be our Alpha, Derek. The one who helps and who guides us, who gives us advice. And that's your best advice? Deal with it on your own. That's not a very pack-like mentality. It's not how you comfort. That's how you alienate someone, Derek. But, fine, if I'm supposed to just deal with problems on my own, I'll just go and do that then.”

Stiles began his way towards the front door, anger still bubbling inside. He ignored the growls behind him and slammed the door, leaving a confused and frustrated Derek behind.

Both men spent hours considering Stiles' anger that night. Stiles couldn't figure out where it came from. Over the years, he had been irrationally sad, gleeful, depressed, even hysterical. But he had never felt anger like the anger he felt himself hurling at Derek. It wasn't the conversation that had made him so mad, and it wasn't his Alpha, so what exactly was it?

In his psych 101 class, Stiles had learned about grief models, and they were pretty insistent that anger fit right in the middle of learning how to cope with the death of a loved one. It didn't feel like that, though. His anger felt totally separate. If only Ms. Kubler-Ross was available by appointment, it'd make everything much easier, Stiles thought. Or, if he could find a way to get away from his emotions, all of his emotions, for just a while, maybe things could be clearer.

While Stiles laid at home, Derek scrubbed the kitchen furiously. He was kicking himself, because he couldn't help but think he was to blame for his Beta's blow up. On the one hand, Derek wanted to be the best Alpha he could be, but on the other, he was worried that he had begun to coddle Stiles a bit too much. There was something about the young man that triggered the Alpha's protective instincts and now that seemed to have hurt them both.

Derek swore quietly as he cracked the tile he was scrubbing. Just another thing on the long list of crappy things that had happened that day. He sat back on his hells and looked around his shining kitchen. It had never been so clean. He sighed and decided to throw in the towel for the night. Hopefully, Stiles would show up in the morning and throw himself into cooking like normal.

It took longer than usual for Derek to fall asleep. He laid in bed, trying to figure out exactly what it was that made Stiles different than everyone else. Because Derek certainly wouldn't do for Isaac or Boyd all the things he did for Stiles recently. He thought himself through hoops, punching his pillows as though they were responsible for his frustration. He could swear he saw light peaking over the trees before he finally fell asleep, exhausted by his own thoughts.

The next morning, there was a pounding on the door before he was even out of bed. He growled as he tugged a wife beater on over the loose sweats, making his way to the door. Stiles stood impatiently, juggling a tray of coffee and a half dozen reusable grocery bags (his most recent phase).

“Lots to do. Let me in, Sleepy Wolf. I brought you coffee as a, you know, sorry.” Without waiting, he pushed his way through, handing off the coffee to Derek, who trailed the whirlwind to the kitchen. Stiles unceremoniously dropped the bags on the tiled floor and a couple cans went rolling.

Stiles spun in a slow circle. “Wow, you really meant it when you said you were cleaning the kitchen.”

“Yeah, so try not to much it up too much.” Derek half-collapsed on the counter and grabbed a cup from the tray. He nearly spit it back up on himself. “Oh my god, what the hell is this shit?”

The Beta looked up from arranging his groceries, wide-eyed. “Oh, well, that would be my black coffee with two shots of espresso. The other cup, however, is your hot chocolate with cinnamon powder, because you're actually five.”

He went back to sorting ingredients, though if there was a system, Derek couldn't tell. He nursed his hot chocolate (hey, coffee and increased taste buds just don't mix, okay?), savoring the warmth. The steely reserve that Derek had come to last night, that he could no longer indulge Stiles, was gone. The stupid human was just too endearing.

It must have been years of bottling that got Stiles to the point he was at. For all the things he was, Scott wasn't a good friend. Derek couldn't see him sitting by Stiles' side, listening to his worries or concerns. Instead, Stiles left everything inside until he had panic attacks, or whatever you would call his mood swings. Even if the nogitsune had exacerbated the problem, if the emotions weren't there in the first place, it couldn't have taken advantage. And as many times as Derek promised himself that he would treat the gangly, awkward human like any other Beta in the pack, he knew it wouldn't be true.

He sipped slowly at the hot chocolate, watching the piles start to take shape. The smile had drifted off Stile's face and he worked quietly. Derek couldn't put his finger on what it was, but something had changed about him. His scent was different. More muted than usual. Almost like an echo of what it normally would be. Before he could think about it too much, though, Stiles said brightly, “Today is dessert day! It's the day we make tasty sweet treats!”

“Stiles, did you say 'we'?”

“Yup, we. You're going to help. It's too much to do for my frail human self. And don't even pretend you don't want to.” In a bit of a rush, he ordered Derek to start a strong pot of coffee while he dumped a bag of sweet potatoes into a large pot.

Together, they bustled around the kitchen, mostly in silence, the occasional question or 'pass me that' thrown in. It was a nice silence. Both men could take the time to think on their own, with no pressure. It was simple, simpler than spending time with the pack or even with Scott, though Stiles wasn't sure when that had happened. Sure, since they had gone to college, they were both busy with school (Stiles) and sports (Scott), but the easy friendship had somehow become strained. Pack dinners were easier than one-on-one hang-out sessions it should feel wrong that the decades long friendship felt harder than spending the day cooking with Sourwolf Grumpypants.

It didn't feel wrong, though. They worked in tandem, dancing around the kitchen, intent on completing the same task. It felt good. TO Derek, it felt like he was back in his old pack home. He could almost smell his father's old scent, musty like the forest floor and pine needles. Stiles' mindless humming reminded him of his mother's own. A home that smelled of pack filled with happy sounds and memories... for the first time in more years than he could bare to count, Derek felt at home and even, maybe happy? Which felt almost wrong, considering the grayed emotional state of his kitchen mate.

Stiles started cursing from behind him. Derek quickly turned around to find him pulling away from the oven , waving his arms frantically.

“Jesus Christmas! Oh, man that hurts.” He rushed to the sink and started running water over his quickly brightening arm as Derek hovered uncomfortably close.

“What did you do? Can I do anything? Do you need anything?”

“Just a burn, no biggie. Why in the world would you let me near the oven?” Stiles looked back with a grin on his face. It was meant to be joking, but a part of Derek took it personally. Because he did know better than letting clumsy, uncoordinated, fragile Stiles near the hot oven. It was his job as an Alpha to protect his pact, even from silly accidents, if he could avoid them, but Derek had been too invested in his own thoughts to be paying attention. 

He furrowed his brow and looked at Stiles' forearm under the steady stream of water. It occurred to him that he actually didn't know much about human healing. Once upon a time, he had bought a first aid kit, but he wouldn't know what to get out of it.

“A little bit of pain-sucking mojo wouldn't go amiss right now. You know, in real pain here.” Stiles waggled his eyebrows and gave a small grin. It was such a Stiles thing to do. Derek gave a tight smile back and carefully placed a hand on his Beta's neck, bare skin, drawing out the pain. The sting was brief and small, just any other kitchen accident. As if by reflex, Derek tried to reach deeper, to find the pain he knew was hiding beneath the jokes and small grins. He couldn't find it, though. Sure, there was some grief, but nothing like what he had felt over the last several months.

Derek looked at Stiles, as if trying to read the reason on his face. That type of emotion, the maelstrom stiles had going on inside of him didn't just go away over night. If anything, he should be feeling worse, if the anger he was feeling yesterday was any indication.

Stiles turned the faucet off and started making himself busy once again. He avoided looking at Derek as he said, “Thank god for good days, huh?” He stumbled as his arm was caught in a vice-like grip. Derek man-handled him easily, turning Stiles so that they were facing each other, inches apart. He fixed his eyes firmly on his Beta.

“Tell me you didn't do anything, Stiles.”

The whiskey-colored eyes staring back at him turned cold and steely. He could feel the anger radiating off of the human. “You told me to handle it. So, I did.”

It was a challenge. Derek's wolf uncurled inside of him, scratching to come out and face the insult to his status as Alpha. He could feel his eyes flash to red. “Stiles, what did you do?”

The smell of anger began to ebb and it was replaced by something else, something more pungent. Fear and shame trickled through, assaulting Derek. It made him worry even more. Stiles was never ashamed. He seemed to lack the necessary genes to be embarrassed about anything. So what had he done that now made it come off him in waves?

It didn't take long for Stiles to break eye contact. Even as a human, he felt the pull from his Alpha. It was impossible to deny a direct request. 

“It's nothing, Derek. I did what you said. I helped myself in a way only I could. I... took my individual skills and used them to my advantage.” Stiles' skills? Something only he could do? That could only mean...

“Stiles, you didn't.” Derek's words were barely audible through the growl.

“Look, it's no different than what you've been doing, really. But instead of you taking the pain, I found a different way to get rid of the pain. It was just a little spell, no big deal. I found it in one of the books Deaton gave to me, so it has to be safe. I was just, you know, being self-sufficient.”

Derek was filled with rage. He couldn't believe what he was hearing; the shear stupidity of what Stiles was doing. On top of that, he couldn't believe he let himself be so misunderstood. How had he gone so absolutely wrong? He felt a growl trickle from his lips, and claws started to grow. Derek jerked away before he could accidentally hurt Stiles. 

“It it not even remotely the same.” His voice was low and gruff. He needed to get out, to clear his head. Away from Stiles. Derek began stalking to his front door. “There's a first aid kit under my bed. Patch up your arm, finish your pies, do... whatever. I'll be back later.”

Derek walked past his car, into the tree line. He shed clothes until he could shift,and he ran. The pulsing in his veins, the burning muscles, the wind whipping at his face all pushed him to go faster and harder. He ran as emotions roiled inside of him. Emotions he hadn't experience in year- rage, guilt, sorrow. 

How had things gotten so far that Stiles had felt it easier to do magic on himself than to confide in someone, anyone? Derek thought he was getting somewhere with him, helping him come to terms with all of the emotions he was fighting. The fight they had was a set-back, sure, but it wasn't nearly serious enough to magically alter emotions!

Derek turned quickly, narrowly avoiding a large oak. How had he done so poorly as an Alpha? It was years before he even noticed anything was wrong, and when he did, he destroyed everything in a matter of months. He made his Beta feel alienated and alone. Derek was focused too much on trying to make everything be good in the moment, and he neglected to look at the big picture. How was he so blind? So neglectful? Why did he ever think he could be the Alpha of a pack?

If he had done something different, anything different, Stiles wouldn't have been driven to do magic to solve his problems. If he had explained better what he was trying to do, maybe Stiles would be more patient and hard working. There were so many possibilities or changes Derek could have chosen, and it seemed like he chose the wrong one every single time. 

That was his life, that was what he did. He only ever did the wrong thing. Nothing had changed since he was young. The wolf ran for hours, going through all the things he did wrong in his head. With only trees around him, it was easier. He could scream and shout, he could howl in his grief and pain. No matter what, though, he was the Alpha. He couldn't hide. He couldn't hide in the preserve, he needed to get back to his Beta to make sure nothing fell out worse than it already had.

He found himself pacing uncomfortably in front of the large sliding door to his loft. He could hear a heartbeat inside, calm and stead. Scents of cooking wafted out to meet him. It was disconcerting that Stiles seemed so calmed. Derek threw himself through the door.

The inside of the apartment still smelled like home. On the kitchen counter sat several gorgeous looking pies and one very decedent-looking chocolate cake. Nowhere to be seen, though, was Stiles. The living room was empty, as well. He climbed the stairs to the upper levels of the loft; there was only one place Stiles could be. Derek found him curled up on the Alpha's bed, asleep.

With a sigh, Derek made his way back down to the kitchen. He got busy putting away the desserts and re-cleaning his kitchen. There wasn't that much of a mess, but it was something to keep his hands busy, if nothing else. He was just finishing up scrubbing the oven when soft footsteps descended the stairs.

Stiles rubbed his sleep-tousled hair and opened his mouth to speak, but Derek held up a hand to stop him.

“Listen, Stiles, before you say anything, I just wanted to apologize.”

“Wuh.. Is this some sort of like opposite-switch exercise where you're me and I'm you? Okay, let's see,” Stiles screwed up his face, “You should be sorry. How could you have been so stupid and human?”

“Stop. I'm actually apologizing to you. Me, Derek, to you, stupid human Stiles.”

Of course, Stiles didn't make conversation easy. Months building some sort of friendship camaraderie thing, and he still made inappropriate jokes in the face of serious conversation. It surprised Derek that two emotionally stunted men could open up to begin with, but now that it was the norm, anything different was frustrating as hell.

Stiles moved a few steps into the living room, then slowly made his way to the couch. “Sorry, force of habit. What'd you want to say?” 

The werewolf sat on the coffee table instead of his usual arm chair. He wanted to be able to make direct eye contact, to look Stiles in the face directly. He stared at his Beta, whose face had fallen into a serious expression, eyes sparkling and attentive.

“Stiles, I'm sorry because I led you astray. When we learned that I could take your emotional pain, I shouldn't have given in to it the way I did. I tried to get you to deal with your problems instead of ignoring them, and you were making progress and cooking and celebrating your mother. I justified you coming to me to take your pain still because coping is hard, with its distraction. I should have, and I’m sorry.”

Derek tried to explain everything as well as he could, but he could tell the words came out wrong. Stiles looked hurt. It was obvious in his voice. “What, you're sorry for helping me? Is that what you're saying?”

“No. No, not at all. No, I'm saying I wasn't helping you, Stiles.” He tried to figure out how he could explain to Stiles what he was trying to say. He had spent hours, days, in his own head figuring it out. How was he supposed to put it into concise words? He looked down and saw Stiles' arm. The burn had gotten wrapped at some point while the older man was running. Derek ignored the small pained sound as he grabbed Stiles' wrist.

“It's like this, Stiles. It's just like this. Imagine your feelings are like this burn. Every time I tried to give you advice, it was like a layer of that antibiotic stuff. The advice was helping you heal. Taking away your pain was just putting on a new bandage. It just covered up the problem, hid it from view. But I got lazy, and I stopped checking your wounds, and just started slapping on a new band-aid, hiding everything. It was neglectful. I was neglecting you. Do you get that?

“But what you did, with the magic? You may as well have ground dirt into the wounds and covered them up. You didn't do anything to solve the problem. Stiles... Taking the pain wasn't solving the problem. I apologize if I made it seem like it was. I failed you as your Alpha and your friend.”

Derek released Stiles' arm and sat back on the table. He had explained the best he could how he was feeling, and why he had been so angry at Stiles' actions. Hopefully, it made sense. Hopefully, it got through.

As they sat, Stiles fingered the gauze over his burn carefully. It was true that doing things to get closer to his mother's memory had made him feel better overall. But so had curling up in bed with Derek, feeling painless and comforted. Was Derek right? Had he gone about things the wrong way? It was hardly unheard of that Stiles fell into things head first without actually thinking first.

Usually it didn't involve magic though. Never untested magic on himself. Looking back, that definitely was a bit rash. And stupid. Okay, monumentally stupid. Stiles could barely believe he had done it. It suddenly hit him. How bad had everything been if he was willing to go to such extreme lengths? Now that Stiles was somewhat separated from his feelings, he could see the desperation. The more the thought about it, the more unbelievable it felt.

Sure, that was sort of why he had performed the magic in the first place: to be able to see things objectively. He wasn't expecting the outcome to be that he was an idiot, though. He dropped his head in his hands. Face buried, he mumbled, “I'm sorry.”

Stiles felt the couch sag next to him, then a warm arm tentatively wrapped around his shoulders. The familiar warmth was nice. He leaned closer to his Alpha's side, immediately feeling a bit better for it. There was no magic to it, and no werewolf mojo. Just comfort.

“Listen, Stiles, we can figure things out. The slow way this time. Get the whole pack involved.”

Tone careful, Stiles said from his hands, “So, if we reverse the spell and start doing, I don't know, pack therapy, do we still get to have our cuddly private times?” Derek went stiff and silent. Stiles carefully looked over his hands, toward to other man. They both enjoyed the time they spent together, the physical comfort and grumpy silence. So now what?

/ \

Christmas rolled around in a whirlwind of tinsel and presents. A huge tree stood decorated in the loft's living room. The pack and decided to celebrate the day after Christmas, so that those who had families could spend the holiday with them. It was nice.

In the dining room, the conversation was loud and jubilant. Tiles stood in front of the happy red stockings that Erica had volunteered to make. Each member of the pack had one, but Erica had also made one for Alison, Laura and Talia Hale, Mr. Lahey, and Stiles' own mother. They had broken the silence on mourning, and this was one of the steps the pack had taken toward healing.

He lightly brushed his mom's stocking. It was the first time in a long time he felt like he was celebrating with her, instead of trying to make her fit into his life some way. It made him smile and want to give Erica a big hug.

Stiles reached up, stretching to brush the toe of Talia Hale's sock when he felt strong arms wrap around his middle. Stubble scraped against the side of his neck, followed by warm breath.

“You're not going to get any food if you stand here all night.”

Stiles turned around in the warm circle of arms to face Derek. Just seeing his scruffy, angular face made Stiles break out in a goofy grin. “I was just saying hello to everyone.”

“You haven't even told me hello yet. Not properly.” Before Stiles could respond, Derek ducked his head down and caught the human's mouth with his own. The kiss was slow and thorough, and completely unique just like every kiss they shared. The feeling of Derek's silky lips on his own made him want to melt into a puddle. But puddles can't make out with their incredibly sexy werewolf boyfriends. 

He pressed himself closer with a happy sigh. He could never get over the feel of his body pressed against Derek's. Slowly, he brought his hands up to the back of Derek's neck, pulling lightly at the hair there. In response, Derek's tongue lightly brushed along the line of his bottom lip, encouraging another sigh. Okay, no, that was a moan, and it was too loud.

“Are you two making out in the hall again?” Scott sounded vaguely disgusted as he called out from the dining room table. Erica and Kira both whistled loudly.

Stiles and Derek broke apart, feigning embarrassment, even though neither of them were ashamed at all. Derek chucked, deep in his throat as Stiles called out “Yeah, but only because I can't give blow jobs in the hall.”

More noise rang out. Stiles pulled his Alpha, his boyfriend, into a tight hug. “Dinner then presents?”

“Mhmm.”

“Hey, Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”


End file.
